Ride With Me (A Quaking Heart Novel - Book One) by Janith Hooper
Chapter 1
Harper Ranch, Montana
One month earlier
Johnnie was beat. The oppressive August sun had finally dropped to the horizon, mercifully calling a halt to his strenuous work day. He'd been out on the range since dawn. He'd handled two calvings, broken up a fist fight between two wranglers, and ridden four miles out to fix a gap in the barbed wire fence. When his horse threw a shoe with a chunk of hoof still attached, that last little bit of fun had him trudging back to the main camp with his stallion in tow.
Johnnie thought back at how his standing in had begun with a simple request. Roy had bade Clint, his foreman, to take supplies to Mary's cabin since Roy himself was headed out-of-state on business. This put third-in-command, Johnnie, in charge—and right smack in the middle of harm's way considering nothing had gone right since the day both men had left.
Johnnie grumbled to himself, thinking how his temporary regime shouldn't have been this bad, lasted this long. Yet neither man was back for some unforeseen reason, and Johnnie was past feeling benevolent.
It was time he call it quits to ranch work.
He'd had another job to do, and it was done. When Clint returned, Johnnie would sit him down and explain why he'd really come here, and that he needed to get back to his detective work for the Pinkertons. He ran a hand down his face, collecting grit from the grueling workday. Times like this had him wondering why he hadn't wrapped things up already.
Jessica. It was because of Jessica. Though he hadn't mentioned the reason to anyone else, it was high time he admitted it to himself. Roy's niece was the reason he hadn't returned to San Francisco.
Handing his horse off to the ranch's burly blacksmith, Johnnie trudged out to the rain barrel by the barn's entrance. His stomach gave a thunderous growl, reminding him of his missed lunch. Just one more thing in his list of the day's debacles to stoke his already foul mood.
After Johnnie rolled the sleeves to his workshirt, he scooped water out and rubbed at the dirt and dried blood on his forearms. Ranching was tough work, and admittedly was satisfying most days. Today was not one of those days.
With a knuckle, he pushed his hat up from his forehead and was going after the grunge on his face and neck when a commotion reached his ears. Loud chatter, then cheers came from behind the main house. He caught his hands at the barrel's edge and leaned on stiffened arms. Now what? Maybe he'd just ignore this next calamity.
Heaving a weary sigh, he straightened. Mucky water dripped off his face and down his neck as he turned toward the sound. He stared at Roy's lofty two-story home—the same one that housed the dining hall where Mabel fed those boisterous cowboys—as if it would give him the answers he sought. It didn't, but what he did notice were more cowboys milling in from the bunkhouses, corral, fields, and barn. The mounting racket rose up like a smoke ring.
He huffed an exasperated breath and shook the water from his hands. It irritated him he'd have to deal with more today. All he wanted was sustenance and some serious down time.
Tugging his hat back to his brows where it belonged, he strode around the south side of the house. When he rounded the corner of the bordering porch, he caught sight of the lively crew congregated around Walt's old truck.
Johnnie strode behind the crowd to get a better glimpse of what they gawked at. Whatever it was, it had brought a smile to every cowboy's face. Johnnie had never seen half these men smile before.
Since he was taller than most, he jockeyed for position to get a good view. He caught his first glimpse of something lovely and feminine, and his joints seemed to fuse. He stared over the top of a dozen men's heads. What he saw was the most glorious hair, the color of sunshine, dancing in the breeze out the passenger window of the old truck. The way the sun glanced off that shiny blonde mass dazzled his senses—and triggered a familiar warning.
Pete, the ranch's funny man—and the most bold—made his way to the woman's door. Having played the part of the shy wrangler for months, Johnnie hung back, letting the other men crowd in behind Pete. He wasn't about to make a complete fool of himself the way the others were doing.
But, when the woman was lifted to the ground and she smiled up at Pete, Johnnie's own mouth had gone dry.
Desert dry.
As the woman stood and flirted with the men, his unguarded gaze swept over her, from her silky hair to the tips of her too fancy flats. She wore a dress, looked like straight out of the 1800's, the color of a Montana sunset with matching petticoats peeking out. Her waist was so tiny, he was sure his hands would fit around it fingers to fingers, thumb to thumb. But, when his gaze moved up from there, something protective busted out in him. The dress was low cut. She was too exposed.
Desire and rage collided and tumbled through his system, churning his blood for the first time in years.
She was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Exquisite. Women this magnificent were not to be trusted. They were usually disloyal and narcissistic and a whole heap of trouble. It was a hard lesson he'd had to learn. But, he'd learned it well. Now, reminding himself of the facts was his only lifeline against such a belle.
Belle, that's what he'd nicknamed them—all of them. A one word reminder of who they were and why he needed to steer clear. Painful memories of past belles tried to resurface. By sheer strength of will he stowed the remembrances back to that secret place in his mind. The place where wounding life experiences were kept.
Backing up, one slow step at a time, Johnnie looked his fill until his boots bumped the porch step. Turning, he bounded up the stairs in two leaps. He grasped the screen door and threw it open. It bounced against the siding and whacked him in the backside as he strode through the opening and made his way to Mabel.
The little cook was busily chopping vegetables into man-sized chunks as Johnnie halted behind her and gazed down at the top of her gray head. Still irritated by the clamoring chumps outside he couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Need help?"
Mabel swung around, nearly slicing Johnnie across the ribs with her butcher knife.
Johnnie jumped back, bowing his spine, deftly avoiding the blade. "Easy does it," he snapped.
"Good grief, cowboy, y'all know not to sneak up on me like that. You scared the dickens out of me!"
Johnnie chuckled sardonically. "Scared you? Who's the one with the knife?"
With the blade still in hand Mabel reached up to wipe her brow. "It is my kitchen, you know. What do you want anyways?"
Johnnie kept his distance, watching the weapon she so carelessly swung about, as if she were conducting her words. "Just came in to see if you needed help." He nodded at her hand and huffed a laugh. "You're certainly safe enough."
She breathed out a hefty humph and narrowed her eyes. Then she nodded. "Why don't you help me serve, since Jessica, my supposed helper, is still up at Mary's for some harebrained reason." She mumbled something indiscernible.
Mabel's comment brought Johnnie's thoughts fondly back to Jessica. Sweet, Jessica. "If you promise to put your weapon away, I'll help." He eyed the knife again. "Don't know if you'll have anyone to feed, though, since your latest visitor's here and she's breaking hearts as we speak." Disgust. It was there in his voice. Usually he was better able to mask emotions—in his voice, on his face. But utter exhaustion had stripped him of his usual control.
Mabel smiled. The first one Johnnie had personally been graced with by the aging ranch cook since he joined the crew over a year ago. "Flirtin' to keep all those cowpokes' notice, is she? So, you're not buying in to all that, huh Johnnie-boy? That would sure be pleasin' to your little Jessica. She don't like flirty women."
Johnnie clamped down on his back teeth. Jessica wasn't his, though he wished he had more of a say in that.
Mabel cocked her head and studied him. Johnnie had quickly banked all expression, but it was too late. Mabel had a keen eye. The look of sympathy in her eyes told him she'd read his true sentiments before he'd erased them off his face. And, since the governor to his mouth went the wa
Stunned by his own atypical blanket of words, he pressed his traitorous lips together before any more words could slide on out. He squeezed his eyes shut to the regret of having spoken his mind to the cantankerous Mabel, of all people.
When silence ensued, Johnnie opened his eyes. Mabel had a dumbfounded look on her face. Tiny crinkle lines seemed to have multiplied at the corners of her mouth and eyes as she squinted up at him.
He had never spoken more than a handful of broken sentences to her before now, as had been his practice with everyone at Harper Ranch. Keeping his Pinkerton status a secret hadn't been easy, but remaining taciturn had helped.
His change of conduct seemed to have squelched the certain comeback Mabel was known for. But, maybe the eruption was still forming. He was a smart man. He knew when to shut-up. And now was a good time.
The air grew thick as they held a silent stand-off.
"Well, well, well," she finally started. "So, our mystery man can speak. And pretty good too. And, seems ta me he's keen on our little Jessica too, eh?"
Blood drained from his face but he didn't utter a word. He guessed it was no surprise to anyone that he had feelings for Jessica. Since the day Jessica had arrived from California to help her uncle's cook, almost three months ago, Johnnie had been affected.
Jessica wasn't beautiful—wasn't a belle—which had been an immense relief to him. And, she had a calming effect about her that Johnnie's spirit seemed to lap up with a thirst he had yet to understand. It was her sweetness and love of God, he supposed. So different from the whirlwind of charming and beautiful women bent on chasing him.
But, that was the past, he reminded himself. He'd buried the past. And, with it, his inclination toward belles.
The screen door flew open, jolting him out of his reflections. Dozens of laughing, jawing men swung into Mabel's dining hall. Johnnie was amazed at how the otherwise stoic cowboys he worked with every single day had instantly transformed into silly adolescents. Silly, grinning adolescents.
In the midst of them was the stunning woman—Rose Marie Swanson, Walt had introduced her as—busily toying with each one of them.
Mabel's face colored up, and seemed to be reddening by the minute. "All right you tough cowpokes. You've seen pretty girls b'fore, so sit yourselves down and let's get you fed. I got better things to do than to wait for all that male interest to settle down."
The group of men found a place for their eye-catching guest, visible to most of them. Not once taking their eyes off Rose Marie, the cowboys scrambled for the seat next to hers. But, like children in a game of musical chairs, they only managed to sit on top of one another. They wrestled about, hollered profanities, then apologized to Rose Marie. Eventually they gave up, much to Johnnie's relief, and sat wherever they found space. Apparently, the pull of hunger finally won out.
Once served they ate hungrily, though the noise level never did die down. Johnnie was embarrassed over the juvenile behavior these normally mature men presented.
After supper, Johnnie helped Mabel serve apple pie. It was exactly what he needed, to successfully avoid Rose Marie through her next round of vying for male attention.
Serving the dessert to the cowpokes directly across from her would prove more of a challenge, but he believed in his ability to resist belles these days. Unlike in his past, he was wiser and more guarded now.
Full of bravado, he leaned down to drop plates in front of the two men who sat directly across from their trophy. Don't look up, and you'll be fine. But his eyes didn't obey. He glanced up, and in that moment so did she. Their gazes didn't just meet, they meshed.
The first thing his mind registered: Blue. Her eyes were translucent blue, the color of a clear Montana sky just after the cleansing of a rainstorm. The second thing: There was something below the surface of those arresting eyes. Was it apprehension? Fear? How could this setting be uncomfortable for a belle? He didn't really believe it, but before he could let his Pinkerton skills delve further, she lifted her chin a mite. Her eyes grew larger. She parted her pink lips and took the tiniest intake of breath. And just like that he tumbled off a precipice.
A feral attraction slammed into him with such magnitude, it zinged through the path of his nervous system. So wild, so raw, so utterly gripping, he wanted to reach over, place his palms to her cheeks, and fasten his mouth to hers. Magnetism this potent was a death trap for him. And, like a wild animal caught in that trap, he'd rather chew off an appendage than be ensnared by this particular captor.
With brazen determination, he flipped the switch of overpowering attraction to blistering fury. It halted the electricity screaming through him, dammed it up, and flung it back at her in the form of a fierce glower.
Her breath faltered, and those azure eyes widened yet further.
His heart missed a beat. Don't get caught.
He couldn't.
He knew better.
Before he found himself incapable of movement, he twisted on his heels and forced his feet into action. A few steps and he was back at the counter that was covered with tonight's dessert. Gad, but he was an easy mark. A total pushover. With his back to the group, he clamped his hands to the edge of the counter and squeezed until his fingers turned white.
He drew deep breaths past a narrowing throat and focused on Mabel's whole pies yet to be cut. They were sad-looking, pitiable ones. So unlike Jessica's delicious creations.
Jessica. Her name alone seemed to soothe him.
"Who is that?" he heard the blonde belle say. It must have been Pete she asked, since he'd secured the coveted spot next to her. "Why haven't I met him yet?"
Johnnie glanced over his shoulder at Pete and saw his displeasure.
"Uh, that there's Johnnie. He's the quiet one round here. Don't mind him," he drawled.
"What if I want to mind—" She stopped abruptly, as if she hadn't meant to voice her thoughts.
Johnnie had to put a stop to any attention from her. Right this minute. He twisted back around, crossed his arms over his chest and, focusing on her forehead, delivered his best intimidating scowl.
Problem was, it only managed to spark a responsive smile back. And, not just any old smile. A blinding, breath-stopping, resolve-crumbling smile. It shot right under Johnnie's calloused skin, and straight into his heart, as if there were a worn path to it instead of the iron bars he'd welded there long ago.
A rise of heat came next, so fast that it enflamed his face clear to the tops of his ears.
He swung back around and glared at a piece of pie, sure it would disintegrate under the blaze of his stare. He was practically panting. Drat! After all the years of controlling this sort of response to a belle, his formidable Pinkerton armor flat failed him. Dissolved into a puddle of magma. I am so blasted weak.
"Introduce me," he heard her say.
Pete hesitated, then hollered. "Hey, Johnnie, come on over and meet beautiful here."
His legs quivered a bit. I can't do it. Taking a deep breath, he collected himself, then more servings of pie. "I'm busy," he spouted over a shoulder.
He went about delivering more desserts, keeping his eyes off her, hoping to convey stark disinterest while re-gathering his indomitable control. Too late he remembered this was exactly the technique he used in his job to attract attention. It always surprised him how well it worked. Men reacted with anger and a need to retaliate, which gave Johnnie the advantage; women tended to draw closer and want more of him. Either way, it was effective. And not what he'd intended to do here.
Now he couldn't avoid it. He'd have to meet her or risk prodding her curiosity about him further.
As he strode to her table he thought of his reaction to her. It was excessive, he knew, but he couldn't seem to stop
In that same way his heart had been overfilled by belles—one in particular.
When Johnnie reached her table, he faced her, coolly.
"Rose Marie. This here's Johnnie," Pete said.
Rose Marie smiled, a surprisingly genuine smile, and cocked her head to one side.
Johnnie caught the small motion. His breath hitched. Against his will he found himself staring into those eyes again. That glorious hair tickled her forehead and delicate ears, making him itch to touch it and smooth it back from her face.
"Well, how do, cowboy?" Still smiling, she hitched her chin up and fluttered a blink.
Her actions caused the surrounding cowboys' jaws to drop. All gazes seemed stuck to her arresting face. He could have heard a napkin hit the ground.
No one moved as they waited for Johnnie's reply.
Having forgotten to remove his hat earlier, he pulled at its rim and tried to give his best I'm-not-in-the-least-bit-interested look. "How do to you, ma'am." Then, he twisted on his heels, and sauntered back to the kitchen.
Mabel was all puffed up, like a proud mother watching her son take a blue ribbon at the county fair. Johnnie only frowned, shaking his head at her, hoping to discourage any more notice.
About that time Roy came through the back door. Johnnie exhaled a huge breath of relief. It was about time Roy made it home. The screen door slammed shut behind the older man, and the minute it did, their new guest caught his rapt attention. Couldn't be the flashy sunset-orange dress and the crowding cowboys, could it? Rather than greet Roy yet, Johnnie leaned his backside indolently into the counter and loosely crossed his arms to see what he would do.
Roy walked right up to her, dropped his suitcase at his feet and smiled. "You must be Rose Marie, Mary's granddaughter. I'm glad I made it back in time to meet you. I hear Walt's takin' you up to the cabin."
"Why, yes, I'm Rose Marie, and yes, I'm going to her cabin. You must be Roy," she said as she smiled up at him. Not the same kind of smile she'd graced him with, Johnnie noticed, though he wished he hadn't.
Roy didn't bat an eye except to nod and say, "Well, you certainly got your grandmother's good looks, young lady." He scanned the kitchen for Walt. He nodded at the older man. "Walt usually likes to leave at sun-up. You might want to get some rest." He bent to retrieve his suitcase, and said to the room in general, "I'll talk to you all in the mornin'. Off to bed." He turned and sauntered toward his bedroom, giving a quick wave of goodnight.
Pete escorted their guest to her room. As Johnnie watched her ascend the stairs, she stopped halfway up and looked back in his direction. Her gaze caught and held his for five heartbeats before he managed to drag his eyes away.
All he thought was—escape. The only question was how fast and how far could he go?